Criminal Justice: Pros and Cons

By Paul J. Williams

The public holds many misconceptions about criminal justice and prison life. Prisons do not resemble country clubs, even though the material amenities have improved over the years. Incarceration is not a deterrent to crime, but instead often reinforces a criminal lifestyle. The deprivation of liberty is basically counterproductive, as it is an impediment to the reintegration of the offender into society, a prerequisite to sound crime prevention.

In Criminal Justice: Pros and Cons, author Paul Williams seeks to dispel these common myths about the criminal justice system. Relying on five decades of experience as a penitentiary psychologist and parole board member, he explores some of the problems and challenges of the current system as it stands now. He includes personal anecdotes from his many years dealing with the system firsthand.

Williams examines the parole process, which is contingent upon an institutional experience directed toward future, crime-free living in the community rather than directed at suppression and control. He also states that the predominant bureaucratic approach, bolstered by technological advance, must be constrained so as not to supplant the personal element in this complex people business. A vibrant, autonomous, community-based sector is essential to the development and maintenance of a healthy criminal justice system.

Learn the ins and outs of the criminal justice system from an insiders personal experiences in Criminal Justice: Pros and Cons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450286862

Paul J. Williams

Paul J. Williams grew up in Dorchester, Massachusetts and attended Boston Public Schools. Paul studied at Northeastern University and is pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Management degree. He serves as a Deacon at Greater Vision Tabernacle Church of Randolph, Massachusetts. Paul has been married for five years and is the proud father of five children. He lives in Massachusetts with his lovely wife, Tyeshia Williams, and their “Fab Five.” This is his first book.

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Copyright © 2004, 2011 by Paul J. Williams.

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ISBN: 978-1-4502-8685-5 (pbk)

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Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 07/11/2011

Contents

Prologue

Acknowledgement

Introduction

Chapter 1: St.Vincent de Paul Penitentiary

- the Pen

Chapter 2: On Parole

- outside looking in

Chapter 3: Group Therapy

- the mob

Chapter 4: The New York Experience

- milieu therapy

Chapter 5: The Return Home

- a period of transition

Chapter 6: Canada’s Largest Penitentiary

- the seventies / anything goes

Chapter 7: The Offender in the Community

- the John Howard Society of Quebec

Chapter 8: Attempting to influence Correctional Policy

- the dangerous offender

Chapter 9: The Bureaucratic Explosion

- the gathering storm

Chapter 10: Dénouement

- silence in the community

Chapter 11: The Aftermath

- prevarication

Epilogue

Short Bio

DEDICATION

These Memoirs are dedicated to Réal,Vic, Marcel, Jacques, Claude, Bobby, Frank, Jackie and Jay whose troubled lives contributed directly to my personal and professional growth.

Prologue

Some forty years ago I embarked on a journey that would lead me through the violent world of criminality, both within the confines of a penitentiary and in community parole supervision. While still in the university setting, I had envisaged a promising future in the comforts of a private office, with the support of professional colleagues. The ensuing reality bore little resemblance to my reverie.

My particular odyssey would be through a minefield of suppressed violence and deceit, occasionally uplifted by the hope of change, only to be thwarted later by the duplicity of power games. Despite this, my career has been a rewarding one. The relatively few successes have adequately compensated for the many setbacks in this complex field.

I started working at St. Vincent de Paul penitentiary, April 24th 1962, simply because there were no positions available elsewhere for an inexperienced psychologist. I had recently graduated from the university and had filled out a series of application forms at various employment settings to no avail. An interview at the Pen proved successful to the extent that I was offered a position of Classification Officer, since the three psychologist positions were currently filled. Although this was somewhat deflating to the inflated ego of a newcomer, I accepted the job and have never looked back.

As it turned out, the penitentiary erupted in a major riot less than two months later and the resident Psychologists resigned. No doubt they were aware that there would be little opportunity to ply their trade in the physical and emotional detritus left in the wake of the uprising. I lacked the experience to make this judgement but now consider my stay as the first of many serendipitous happenings that blessed my career.

There are many people who have laboured assiduously in the correctional field for thirty years or more. I consider myself fortunate, however, to have been exposed to various settings in different jurisdictions along the way. This afforded me a more comprehensive experience that widened my view of criminal justice and enhanced my development as a person.

The first victims of crime are the offenders themselves. This is not meant as an excuse for their behaviour but merely as a hint of an explanation. I believe that we, as a society, have a serious obligation to the prevention of crime and one valid approach lies in the treatment of the offender. This is a complex notion that includes knowledge of delinquent dynamics, an awareness of societal resources and insufficiencies, along with an in-depth understanding of the effects of the deprivation of liberty.

Incarceration is society’s primary manner of responding to behaviour that contravenes established law. There are other means as well but if the behaviour is considered serious enough or repetitive enough, imprisonment is the outcome. Some believe it is not used often enough, others that it is meted out too easily; some hold that it is not sufficiently harsh, others proclaim that the simple deprivation of freedom is punishment enough. In fact, both the law and government correctional documents state that incarceration is to be used as a last resort. Official written proclamations, however, do not always reflect the reality in practice.

Incarceration, then, as a means of neutralizing criminal behaviour, is indispensable. It must be used prudently, however. Canada has the dubious reputation as the country with the second highest incarceration rate in the western hemisphere. This reflects a knee-jerk reaction to media hype, rather than a planned response based on informed opinion and expertise. This situation prevails even though the crime rate across Canada has been in a decline over the last three decades. Strident attention, rather than mere lip service, must be paid to the spirit of the law as well as stated correctional policy; incarceration is to be employed as a last resort.

Equally important, however, is the manner in which the incarceration process is carried out. Deprivation of liberty is a serious matter and must be treated as such. The simple removal of someone from society does not necessarily solve the problem, either for the offender or for society as a whole. That portion of the sentence to be served in a correctional institution must be designed in such a manner as to enhance the chances of the offender to reintegrate into the community. The post-release phase of the sentence, to be served under supervision in the community, is an integral part of the correctional process and must be directly related to the institutional experience. Thus, reintegration of the offender neither begins nor ends upon release from prison but must be an essential ingredient inherent in the institutional experience.

Prisons and penitentiaries are the dwellings in which offenders are housed. The average cost to maintain a person incarcerated in a federal penitentiary now surpasses sixty thousand dollars per year. The overall budget of Correctional Service Canada surpassed the annual billion-dollar mark in 1996 and has been increasing since. There are many reasons why this cost is so high and much dispute as to whether or not the entire process is justifiable. Suffice it to say that society has a right to a minimum expectation; an individual should not emerge from the incarceration experience less equipped to deal with the demands of freedom than prior to admission. Perhaps one could argue that the individual should come out of the experience better equipped or, at least, that every effort had been made to accomplish this. It is trite to allude to protection of the public if the idea of change, in the sense of personal growth, is not inherent in the correctional equation. It is equally banal to exclude the notion of providing realistic help to the offender. Society deserves some level of satisfaction from a system so costly in human as well as monetary terms.

One of the uppermost challenges facing an organization that provides a helping service is to keep the essential goal of the service in the forefront. This holds true for community-based organizations as well as government agencies. Secondary issues and concerns can make the organization or those who work for it more important than the clients they serve. Whereas the profit motive keeps a check on profit-making corporations, social service delivery systems have no such innate, systemic control. The fact that schools are to educate students and hospitals are to treat patients are examples of truisms that sometimes recede into the background in practice, as labour movements jockey to secure the optimum for those they represent or when political expediency rises to the fore.

In the correctional field, several factors may come into play and cloud the ultimate goal of the service. The most incessant impediment stems from the nature of the subject matter itself, delinquency, personified by the offender. The offender, particularly the persistent offender, is seldom motivated towards internal change. This presents a unique challenge to caregivers and renders their task an especially difficult one. Basic differences in the perception of needs and goals create a pronounced antithesis between caregiver and client, creating antipathies that must be recognized. If they are not addressed, the caregiver’s role is never actualized and a truly helping service is impossible.

With today’s advanced technology, prisons and penitentiaries have streamlined their service delivery. There are more correctional programs available than in the past, easier access to educational and vocational assistance and added functions to address ethnic and cultural diversity. Despite these developments, however, the overall tenor of the institutional climate has become increasingly impersonal. Wardens have retreated to a bureaucratic hideaway, making fewer hands-on decisions while delegating to a myriad of faceless committees. Institutional parole officers, better educated than in days past, perform at a comfortable distance as crimino-technicians, diligently perusing files and busily collating computer-provided information of arguable accuracy.

The true test of the cogency of a specific law is its applicability to everyday life in society. Similarly, the validity of a correctional system, with its articulated policies and practices, lies in the degree to which these decrees from on high are translated into action in the operational field. The ultimate responsibility rests with senior officials, not only to enunciate a mission statement and a set of core values, but also to ensure that these can be and are put into practice. Otherwise, the exercise becomes mere window-dressing designed to enhance an image.

My personal experience with the federal correctional service suggests a growing discrepancy between the authorized printed word and actual practice. This, in part, is the result of an unmanageable bureaucratic explosion over the past thirty years. It is also due, however, to an insatiable desire to polish an image for popular and political consumption. While senior representatives of the government agency seem bent on preaching their correctional gospel to an international audience, a closer look at everyday practice at the field level reveals problems that need addressing.

* * *

I called from my office in Leclerc Penitentiary to the officer on duty at 3GH, a penitentiary wing, and asked to have an inmate sent over. This was the usual procedure. I would call either the wing where the particular inmate was housed or the place where he worked. I didn’t make out passes in advance, as most others did, simply because my work schedule was haphazard. The contract called for my presence an average of two and a half days per week. I chose the days and the choice was, in part, contingent upon obligations elsewhere.

René, an inmate whom I had first met more than thirty-five years before and who was excellent at referrals, had referred Jimmy to me. He knew what I could and could not do. He was also adept at screening out those inmates who would see anyone at anytime so long as it got them out of work or some other irksome obligation. As a matter of fact, René was much less tolerant than I and would usually admonish the individual he was sending over, . . . don’t start with the bullshit and take up his time for nothing. This caution usually proved to be a time saver.

When Jimmy arrived I was somewhat taken aback by his youthful look. I knew he had just turned twenty-two but he had the physical appearance of a teenager. Standing at about five-eleven, lean, bright blue eyes and a carrot top, it was not surprising he featured a slight scowl. After all, this kid had to have some hint of threat about him, if he were to survive in the jungle.

How’s it goin’ man? I exclaimed, reaching out to shake his hand. His firm handshake belied what, on first sight, seemed to be a slim physique. In fact, he had the well-toned musculature of an athlete rather than the build of those artificially developed mesomorphs who strutted across the yard to and from the weight pit.

I’m having trouble sleeping and wanna know if you could prescribe something, he stated politely, as though he were at the head of the line at the neighbourhood pharmacy.

I explained to him that I was not a medical doctor and, as such, could not prescribe medication. I then hesitatingly offered him a cup of coffee. I was always glad to share the pot of coffee I prepared in the morning: Not only because a full pot was too much for any one person and was strong enough to revive the brain-dead, but a cup or two helped create a more pleasant ambience to compensate for the stark décor of my penitentiary office.

In truth, my coffee had become somewhat of a legend. Those who knew me politely declined my offer. Those who knew me better, laid it out, This is the worst concoction ever served, it makes our worst home brew a delight. But I was never convinced. I could drink it, why not the others? So, I affably offered it to all first-comers. Some became last-comers; others firmly refused the libation.

Jimmy accepted my cup of coffee and finished the pot with me. He spoke of his difficulty sleeping, a plight which had plagued him since his incarceration. He was in his third year of a life sentence for second-degree murder. This made him eligible for full parole after the completion of ten years. Most inmates with a similar sentence, in an effort to maintain some semblance of mental and emotional stability, think and behave as though the ten-year mark was an automatic release date. They know this to be factually incorrect but, at least, a specific release date helps quieten the anxiety and depression engendered by the nebulous quality of a life sentence.

Jimmy, however, had not reached that point as yet. He was still living in the largely illusory world of the appeal. This provided some faint hope but also reinforced an emotional defence against speaking about the crime: my lawyer has instructed me not to talk about it until my appeal is over. If these same lawyers were privy to the ongoing trauma some of their clients experience because of this blanket prohibition, they may well be more discerning in their counsel. Catharsis is a rare luxury in the emotionally repressive atmosphere of the penitentiary. In this unhealthy milieu, where feelings other than anger and hostility are frequently interpreted as a weakness, the clinician is often at pains to create a climate of trust and provide the solace necessary to solicit deeply buried feelings of grief and remorse.

Nevertheless, Jimmy was able to speak of other revealing facets of his young life. Even in that first interview, the scowl quickly transformed into an engaging smile. Over a period of two and a half hours, interest areas within the sphere of literature, music, films and sports were uncovered. It was the institutional bell, the signal to return to the cell area for the official midday count, that interrupted our conversation. Jimmy sat bolt upright at the sound,

thanks for your time, I really enjoyed talking, I hope you’ll call me again. The coffee was really good!

I looked up expecting that impish grin I noticed had accentuated some earlier witticisms. I was startled to see a serious look of sincerity. I knew immediately I had found a new pal. Ol’Red was okay!

For the next two and a half years I followed Jimmy along his journey, on a weekly basis. If he arrived early and the mugs had not been laid out as yet, he would cast a furtive glance toward the percolator and with an audible sigh of relief attend to setting the table. These sessions, officially referred to as individual therapy, took up the entire Monday morning. He would recount the weekend’s activities, mainly sports, both as a spectator and as a participant. A voracious reader and an avid music buff, he would quote from various sources and punctuate the dialogue with insightful comments and clever repartee. His complaints of insomnia quickly disappeared as he developed the technique of reading well into the night before finally dozing off. This seemed to be to his satisfaction, although less so to those who expected him to be at work in the morning. I’m not a morning person, was his brief explanation to the staff.

A solution was found when they appointed Jimmy as cleaner on the wing. This entailed approximately thirty to forty-five minutes of mopping a day. This work assignment was duly incorporated into his correctional plan, undoubtedly an integral part of the overall plan to prepare him for the world of work upon release into a competitive society.

Jimmy’s prowess at sports was considerable. He was above average in all the institutional contests but excelled particularly in football. He had played organized football as a teenager and was proficient enough to have earned a scholarship, a reward cancelled by his incarceration. He was highly competitive, a necessity to gain respect in the Pen but a double-edged sword, since fierce competitiveness could be interpreted by the less talented as a means of showing them up. He played with the reckless abandon of youth, impervious to any danger, on or off the field.

The fact that Jimmy had eventually completed high school was a minor miracle. He was certainly of above average intelligence and possessed an inquiring mind. His personal life from the early developmental years on, however, can best be described as a horror show. His early school years and adolescence give true meaning to the expression street kid.

Jimmy never met his natural father nor ever knew who he was. He was in the hands of a drug-addicted mother and a string of abusive and addicted male figures. He began roaming the streets of Ottawa at age eight, sleeping in parked cars and apartment hallways. The many attempts to have him placed by Children’s Aid, resulted in the characteristic absconding from the placements in search of mom. He usually ended up back in the streets and attributed his being fleet of foot to these early experiences.

I became really good at runnin’ when I was spotted. I could leap over backyard fences like Jordan goin’ for a slam-dunk, he recounted with eyes shining as though he were living the moment.

Every now and then his mother would stabilize somewhat as she began once again with a new partner. He could remember only one, Art, who treated me good. Further probing revealed that his acceptable treatment was defined by the fact that, Art didn’t beat my mother. He wasn’t a heavy user either; he just hung around the house. He was with us for almost two years. This latter statement was uttered with a sense of approbation; Art was the most stable male figure Jimmy had met.

The growing sense of abandonment, reinforced by the regular disappearances of his mother, finally took its toll. He was about fourteen when he accepted placement with a family on a farm just west of Ottawa. His acceptance was as much due to the fact that he had written his mother off, as to the genuine interest and kindness of this new family. They had three or four other youths there but you felt right from the start this family was in your corner. We used to rap about it among ourselves.

Jimmy’s own life stabilized somewhat in that he was able to stay in school. His previous nomadic existence had wreaked havoc with his school performance but his strong intelligence and emerging sense of wanting to accomplish something, however vague, now held him in the one school and gave him the opportunity to catch up. The early emotional scars, nevertheless, left their imprint and affected his social development.

Jimmy excelled in sports in school, particularly football. Although this made him popular with the school peer group, the absence of a sense of basic trust pushed him toward the fringe element. It was within this group of insecure adolescents that a denial of feelings was interpreted as strength. Here he was able to relate to others who would not open any emotional doors. The hurt centred on Mom was now repressed, only to emerge occasionally and momentarily, over coffee, in the sparse confines of a penitentiary office much later.

I have made it a practice not to limit my work with the inmates to an office setting. Obviously, there are times and subject-matter which dictate the more official ambience of a traditional desk and chair encounter; equally obvious, at least to me, is that there are times and occasions when the contact is less formal and, because of this informality, a strengthening of the relationship may come about. Given the nature of the correctional setting, the inmate serving a sentence and the personnel administering the sentence, the relationships are usually unidirectional, from supplicant to decider. Over an extended period this creates a climate that can be ultimately counter-productive. I try to counterbalance this with a casual approach. There is some validity to street work in the gym, the yard or on the wing.

Jimmy was a member of the Lifer’s Club and helped organize the annual day for a group of physically and mentally challenged people. The guests were bussed in on a Saturday morning, played various games with the inmates and shared lunch as well as liquid refreshments throughout the day. The activities went on from nine-thirty to three-thirty in the gym. Some members of the staff would come in and I made it a point to bring my son and daughter with me. I wanted them to have first hand experience of what a penitentiary is like, meet some of the men and perhaps test the veracity of some of the war stories I recounted at home.

Both my son and daughter were touched by the graciousness accorded them by all the inmates they encountered and remembered for sometime afterward Jimmy, himself. I had been working with him for about a year at this time and the transference that had developed ticketed me as a benevolent father figure. Jimmy was initially reserved with my son and daughter and seemed to be tripping over himself to try and do the right thing. He seemed to breathe more easily when they accepted his offer of a Coke as it gave him a moment’s respite from the social pressure when he left to get the soft drinks. We relaxed over our soda around ten in the morning. At least it beat my coffee!

It was while pondering over this encounter sometime later that I put Jimmy’s youth and life situation in perspective. He was the same age as my son, twenty-three. He was serving a life sentence for the murder of a friend’s abusive stepfather. Involved in a correctional system that had become so impersonal he was considered a lifer who had a case management officer, more than a young adult person. My son had had his problems during his adolescent years; some serious enough to warrant close attention. At least he had had parents to whom he could and did turn. The best Jimmy had was a substitute, perhaps a designated hitter. Evidently, this best wasn’t good enough!

The Monday morning sessions continued regularly. The thrust of the counselling was towards encouraging and reinforcing certain positive steps Jimmy was able to take. Although adept at sports, he was less comfortable in the more mundane social relationships, greeting many but courting few. It was obvious the competitive ambience of athletic encounter suited him; in a sense, his early experience of self-reliance for survival served him well in this arena. He was less well equipped for everyday social encounters.

In the circumspect world of the penitentiary, social graces take on new meaning. On the one hand, the inmate often feels obliged to behave in an expected manner so as to gain the necessary recognition as one who is changing and benefiting from the contrived programming of the institutional life. At the same time, survival within the real cultural milieu, defined by the power structure within the inmate population, requires a certain posturing that basically defies conformity to norms established by the authorities. This paradoxical situation demands a balancing act, difficult for neophytes but, unfortunately, commonplace for those on whom the process of incarceration has taken its toll.

Jimmy had difficulty coping with both horns of the dilemma. The residue of his developmental experience shut the door to trust and confidence in those who exercised authority, effectively curbing any meaningful participation in prescribed programs. Likewise, the not-so-subtle demands of the institutional sub-culture seemed to him another imposition by others. Others had defined his life up to now; where and with whom he must live and in what style; persons and circumstances outside his control had dictated all. The result had been severe emotional pain, assuaged only by absconding. His present situation allowed only for a certain degree of emotional withdrawal, disguised by a carapace of curt and sometimes caustic verbal response. This would keep them at a distance.

As time passed, Jimmy showed minor signs of increasing autonomy. He had approached the school supervisor about possible correspondence courses at the university level. He had begun to write a short story, bringing it to my attention for approval and encouragement. Finally, he obtained a job transfer to the institutional canteen, a move initiated and facilitated by one of his closer friends, another sports addict. This latter step was somewhat of a challenge as the work assignment entailed some responsibility. For some years now the inmates operated the canteen. The ordering and selling of canteen articles called for a transparent balance. This placed those who worked there in the sometimes delicate position of preventing, or at least controlling, the abuses which fund the various illicit trades common in penitentiaries. It is a job many inmates will avoid.

One Thursday afternoon I was making my rounds through various parts of the institution. I was looking forward to a long weekend and thought I’d touch base with as many men as possible before leaving. About three-twenty, I was coming through the gym from the main yard. Jimmy was shooting hoops with some of the Brothers. He was the only white guy who played regularly with the Blacks. The mutual respect was evident.

What’s happenin’ Doc? he said light-heartedly.

Gettin’ ready to split. Long weekend for me. Where are you off to? I needled.

Same ol’ shit here. But, will you be back Monday?

Yeah, I’m here. I’ll call you up for nine-thirty.

Don’t forget the mud. I need my fix if I’m gonna stay awake all week, he joked, casting a quick glance at his audience. I performed the ritual handshake with each man and left.

Monday morning remains ingrained in my mind though it is now several years past. As I sauntered past Control 30, a security control post on the way to my office, an inmate sidled up to me.

How’s it goin’ this mornin’ . . . too bad about that kid who got it!

I turned to him abruptly but before I could utter a word, the redheaded, English-speaking kid.

Although I knew instantly, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, What happened?

He got shived near the Socio, staggered to the gym and was dying in a pool of blood before them fuckin’ screws finally got ’im to the hospital. He died there, he blurted out in one breath.

He then slipped away as furtively as he had approached me a moment before. I was shell-shocked for the moment. There are no long discussions over death in the Pen. Although I was never able to confirm this, I believe this inmate was sent to prepare me by others. A number of the men knew that Jimmy was seeing me on a regular basis. They knew I cared. Nobody on staff ever mentioned a word to me.

Some weeks later there was the mandatory Administrative Inquiry. A body of three people, one from outside the system, conducted interviews and studied written policies, procedures and technical implements such as cameras, static security posts, etc., for possible lapses. It was established that Jimmy had been playing basketball when approached by an inmate who told him someone wanted to see him at the Socio. He was next seen staggering back to the gym where he collapsed. The several knife wounds proved fatal and he succumbed to his injuries approximately an hour later in the hospital. No assailant or accomplices were ever positively identified.

This was certainly not the first inmate with whom I had worked regularly to be killed. In a sense, though, he was the closest. He was the last man I spoke to before leaving for the long weekend; our agreement had been to meet Monday morning; I always prepared mentally for my counselling sessions. More important, however, was the fact that Jimmy really had no one in the world. There were visitors he sometimes alluded to, but they were always coming any day now. Although he insisted vehemently that his mother was in the past, I always suspected that if, by some miracle, she had been able to visit, he would have spirited himself to the visiting room like Jordan goin’ for a slam-dunk.

This was never to be. Although I could not have hoped to fill the void Jimmy experienced, I do hope that I provided some meaningful measure of human contact. It all ended October 31st, 1998. In a whited sepulchre, a veritable cauldron of seething hate, anger and pretence, a twenty-four year old man lost his life.

Acknowledgement

I would like to acknowledge the perseverance of Ms. Susan Pelletier in typing and re-typing the original manuscript.

As well, the friendship of Gaston St-Jean, reflected in his untiring patience while making valuable suggestions, is greatly appreciated.

Introduction

Pros and Cons is an expression that has different meanings to different people, depending on the given context and contingent upon the viewpoint of the speaker and the listener. A common usage of the term refers to the two sides of a particular issue. The two words, taken separately, are sometimes used as diminutives for professionals and convicts; a further colloquial use of the word cons implies the deceitful manipulation of another.

In the treatise to follow, the interpretation of pros and cons is left up to the reader. Is society well served by our use of incarceration as the principal means of dealing with the offender? Certainly what follows is about both professionals and convicts and a good amount of conning is recounted. What the reader must determine is whether the real professionals are those who profess to address the problem or those who have been convicted. Similarly, who is doing the conning?

Criminal Justice as a whole and the correctional system in particular, with its inherent mechanism of conditional release, becomes a subject of wide public interest when a major event occurs. There is usually a media feed frenzy when a gruesome murder, a prison riot, a hostage taking or some similar spectacular incident takes place. Although it is the media’s responsibility to report these events, undue emphasis on the dramatic can result in unwarranted conclusions. Unfortunately, the general public’s knowledge of corrections, its players and its problems is almost entirely limited to media accounts of such episodes. A perilous corollary is that policy makers, in deference to this contrived public opinion, are wont to counsel change founded on biased and incomplete information.

Criminal Justice, which incorporates the correctional system, must be a concern for all at all times. The openness of our court system is to ensure that justice takes place and that there is an appearance of justice as well. This fundamental transparency is an important benchmark of a healthy system but must not be limited to the judiciary. Although a certain veneer of candidness has emerged in corrections and parole over the past several years, the portrait is a mere adumbration of the reality. Political consolidation and correctness, bolstered by the bloated bureaucracy of a government agency bent on creating and preserving an image, have all but muted the voice of informed criticism from without and implanted an internal structure of intellectual and functional inbreeding.

Corrections is a people business whose ultimate efficacy is reliant upon the interpersonal relationships among its various players. Most administrators acknowledge that correctional personnel should somehow share a common goal. Although the term team approach is presented in official communiqués, closer scrutiny leads to question whether the game is the same one for all concerned. In any case the offender population, that people element without which there would be no game whatsoever, must be perceived and accepted as an integral part of the maze of interpersonal relationships. This latter group, comprised of individuals detained against their will, is the raison d’être of any correctional system. They must be dealt with honestly and openly if one is to expect of corrections something more than temporary, preventive warehousing. Concepts such as compassion and respect, anathema even to some practitioners but innate in true justice, must be actualized if only to keep at bay the emergence of an ersatz justice system, ultimately characterized by the din of jackboots marching in cadence.

St.Vincent de Paul Penitentiary

- the Pen

Cell Block one was a stone fortress within the walls of St. Vincent de Paul penitentiary. Its interior, Segregation, was a combination of cement and steel, peopled by uniformed guards and differently uniformed inmates: the watchers and the watched. One of the guards was armed and observed from an elevated steel cage.

The steel steps made a clanging noise as I climbed to the second tier, adding to the pervasive metallic din. I had previously sent a written request to each man in segregation asking for his participation in a research project for my thesis. Most of the inmates housed here were awaiting a court appearance on charges emanating from the recent riot that had devastated the penitentiary. This was truly a captive audience, detained in the cell twenty-three hours a day. They were eager for any sort of diversion and, consequently, all but one of them had replied to my request. I was on my way to see the one who hadn’t.

Jean-Guy was in Segregation but not because of the riot. He had spent the greater part of the past five years in one form of isolation or another. Since his admission to the penitentiary at seventeen years of age, he had been considered a trouble-maker, muscle man, un bras, some of the many terms used in the colourful jargon of the Pen.

He was serving a twelve-year sentence for manslaughter and aggravated assault, the culmination of several years of gang fights. During the first five years of his sentence, he had become somewhat of a legend. He had initially been refused transfer to the Federal Training Centre, flagship of the Canadian Penitentiary Service at the time. This institution had been designed for first penitentiary offenders, under the age of twenty-five and specialized in trade training. The rationale was, if one were able to separate the first penitentiary offender from the older inmates and expose him to specific trade training, a re-made individual would somehow emerge. Although a certain classification of offenders and trade training are positive steps, these elements alone are a simplistic approach to a complex problem.

In fact, Jean-Guy met with the criterion of first penitentiary offender under the age of twenty-five. His street reputation, however, reinforced by his early adjustment difficulties quickly ticketed him as a young tough, too disruptive for the relatively new and progressive institution. The Federal Training Centre was one of the first in a long line of progressive institutions to come. None of these new institutions would ever effectively uncover and contend with the multi-faceted problems that brought men into conflict with the law. What would emerge instead, was a more refined selection system that would attempt to tailor the offender to the institution. The bottom line: quiet and smooth-running institutions, a policy that was to be enforced and reinforced through the collusion between a growing administrative bureaucracy and an increasingly powerful labour movement over the ensuing years.

Instead of transfer to the new institution, Jean-Guy was assigned to the Y Block of St. Vincent de Paul. Here, the inmates were under twenty-one years of age, required to wear the letter Y along with their Pen number affixed to their cap, jacket and pants. This was intended to separate the younger offenders from the older ones, "les serins from the wolves." Although sleeping and eating accommodations, as well as certain Y Shops, remained apart from the general inmate population, recreational activities, for the most part, allowed for intermingling.

It was only a matter of time before Jean-Guy took control of the Y side, along with some older, more experienced inmates; taking control included anything from collecting canteen articles as protection, to demanding outright sexual favours. It was not long before the institutional authorities took action. He was removed from the Y Block and placed in isolation for punishment and control.

In those years, the institutional Warden reigned supreme, with power shared only with his immediate delegates, the Deputy Warden and the Chief Keeper. As there was no regional authority and communication with the central authority in Ottawa haphazard at best, there was no independent court of redress should any abuse arise. Isolation, suspension of visiting privileges, loss of good time, corporal punishment, sudden and unannounced transfer to another region of the country, or any combination of the above were the principal disciplinary measures. Discipline was the euphemism for punishment and control, the means to maintain a quiet institution. This ultimate purpose has not changed in forty years; only the methods have been modified. Fundamental issues as delinquent mechanisms, reactions, behavioural patterns, as well as the effects of the deprivation of liberty, are no better dealt with in contemporary correctional institutions than in those days. If anything, today’s prisons and penitentiaries better